


Happy Endings

by Jenetica



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Masseuse, F/M, Lydia is his client, Sensual Play, Sensuality, Shameless Smut, Stiles is a masseuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia is totally sure Epi-She-Lial's famous Happy Endings massage doesn't actually come with a happy ending.</p><p>Like, 98 percent sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as "Jen tries watching porn and gets ideas."
> 
> Un-beta'd.

This is exactly what she needed.  
  
Lydia breathes in the scented steam of the sauna, feeling cleaner than she has in weeks. After an exfoliating scrub, an invigorating acid mask, and a series of treatments in an ice bath and steam room, who wouldn't? Her pores are practically resonant, they're so emptied out. Allison deserves some kind of monumental Best Friends award for buying them both deluxe spa packages. Like "STI-free firefighter stripper" levels of awards.  
  
Epi-She-Lial is the hottest spa in the Medford area, according to Allison's roommate, Monica. Female students from all over Massachusetts come to get their legendary massages, especially after finals week. Lydia's been out of MIT for a week, but Tufts, Allison's college, has yet to start their finals. Allison insisted they go anyway, "because your finals are, like, ten times harder than mine." Lydia's not about to argue with that logic. Her multi-variable calculus exam was only five questions long, and Lydia still hadn't finished after almost three hours of exam time. That's not the kind of test you walk out of confidently, no matter how well you knew the material.   
  
Allison and Lydia got identical packages but Lydia hasn't seen Allison once since they checked in. When she asked about it, the masseuse smiled and said, "Spa days are about the self. Relish the chance relax within your own body. You'll see your friend as soon as both of you are done." Lydia almost wanted to argue about that, because this was supposed to be a girls' day and it's now more of a girl's (singular) day but, honestly, the masseuse was right. Lydia needs a day to detox her mind as well as her body, and spending a few hours with nothing but her own thoughts as company is really refreshing.  
  
A curvy blonde woman dressed in immaculately white scrubs opens the sauna door. "Ready for your Happy Endings massage?"  
  
Lydia laughs. "You bet I am." The Happy Endings massage doesn't really come with a happy ending, but it's one hell of a name. Lydia can appreciate transparent satire when she sees it. The blonde woman leads her to a simple, dimly-lit room with a flat massaging table.   
  
"Disrobe and place this towel over yourself," the woman says, placing a fluffy towel on the table. "Your masseuse will be in shortly." She leaves, closing the door with a soft _click_ behind her.  
  
Lydia slides off her robe and hangs it on a nearby coatrack. She takes a moment to stretch, loving how moisturized and fresh she feels. Massachusetts winters do not like her skin, she's discovered, and no matter how much lotion she applies, the dry, cold air with leave her chapped and flaking by the day's end. It's been a struggle, but Lydia Martin bows to no weather conditions.  
  
She lies down on the table and pulls the towel over herself. She frowns at how little it covers, yanks it up to cover her breasts only to be exposed in a rather intimate location, yanks it down and feels like she's one nudge away from a nip slip. She sighs and does her best to cover as much as possible. These people are professionals, she rationalizes; if they can't handle a little bit of exposure, they shouldn't be in the massaging business. So there.  
  
The masseuse comes in only a few seconds later. He's tall, lean and lightly-muscled, with carefully gelled hair and an upturned nose that makes Lydia think of Peter Pan. He fills out his white scrubs just enough to fringe on "Hot Doctor" territory. A Hot Doctor Peter Pan masseuse. Lydia can definitely get onboard with that. She bites her tongue and smiles up at him, hyper-aware that she's one undersized towel from being naked. "Hello."  
  
The masseuse smiles at her warmly, all freckles and cool confidence. "Hi. I'm Stiles."  
  
"Lydia."  
  
"You're here for the, uh, Happy Ending massage?" His ears pink and Lydia can't help but find that immensely adorable.   
  
"Yep." She shifts, letting the towel expose a sliver more leg. Stiles nods, posture straightening even though his ears are still pink, and pumps oil onto his hands from a large bottle attached to the foot of the bed. He wordlessly rubs the oil into his hands and starts in on her feet.   
  
His hands are magical. Lydia closes her eyes and allows herself to relax into the table. Stiles works in smooth, firm movements, all dextrous fingers and soothing warmth. He presses in all the right spots, rubbing at pressure points Lydia didn't even know she had, and it's heaven. By the time he moves on to her ankles, Lydia's almost asleep, resting in some mental state that doesn't allow for thoughts much more complicated than "wow, that's nice."  
  
He rubs oil into the delicate muscles of her calves, sure to press hard along her gastrocnemii, which Lydia knows are tense from wearing high heels all the time. His hands slip over her knees, slicking them with oil, and Lydia can't help but realize how close he is to her center, barely covered by the towel. She bets he could see it if he angled his head down a little. Lydia supposes the idea should make her nervous, but instead it fills her with a sense of mischievous anticipation. She feels too good, too relaxed, to worry about modesty, and wouldn't it be absolutely enchanting to see how red he turns, if he did see her?   
  
Stiles hands work oil into her thighs, spreading it in large sweeps upward. Lydia breathes in when his fingers graze her upper thigh for the first time, and exhales as they slide back down toward her knee. He repeats this several times, gliding up and down, until Lydia can feel herself beginning to grow damp. His hands slide up the inside of her thigh-- _oh God_ , she thinks, _this is it_ \-- and slide down the inside of her other leg. Stiles pumps another puddle of oil into his hand and works on that one, now, over the knee and up her thigh, grazing back and forth.   
  
Slowly, almost so Lydia doesn't notice it, Stiles begins to focus on her inner thighs, rubbing in light circles that rove up to the crease of her hip. Lydia feels herself pulse, silently begging for those skilled fingers to creep just an inch higher. Enough to feel how hot she is, to see how soaking she is just from him touching her legs. Crudely, she thinks, _that's one place he won't need to use oil_.   
  
Stiles' hands continue to work at her. Lydia grows more and more needy, barely restraining herself from lifting her hips up so his fingers slide over her on accident, anything to ease the ache between her legs. Suddenly Lydia feels skin sweep over her center, and if she wasn't so hyper-sensitive she might have missed it. She couldn't have missed the way Stiles inhales, though, just slightly louder than his usual breaths but obvious enough that Lydia can tell he's aware he touched her. Lydia bites the inside of her cheek and shifts a leg slightly, opening herself to him more. Stiles swallows audibly and presses a line up the top of Lydia's thigh, hand twisting to cup the inside of her leg and kneading the muscles there. A knuckle drags over her slit, unceremonious enough that Lydia could call it an accident if she wanted to.  
  
She doesn't want to.  
  
She angles her hips up nearly imperceptibly. The next swipe of Stiles' knuckle is just a little harder, so he presses her open enough to feel how wet she is for him. Frankly, Lydia's amazed she isn't drooling onto the table, considering how turned on she is. Stiles swallows again and the knuckle returns, lingering long enough to find her clit. Lydia inhales sharply, an indicator that she's fully aware of what he's doing, and she's fully okay with it, and shifts her leg out another centimeter.  
  
Stiles kneads her thigh once more before sliding his hand over her, rubbing hard once, before working into the opposite thigh. Lydia could scream in frustration but it's nice, too, simmering away while Stiles makes his way toward giving her what she needs. It burns sweetly in her veins, an itch that will feel so good once it's scratched. The pad of Stiles' thumb reaches out, now, slides between her folds and rests lightly on her clit. It rubs down over her entrance and back up.   
  
Finally, after what feels like years of delicious torture, Stiles places his hand over her core fully, not breaching her outer lips even, but it's so close to what Lydia needs that she relishes it anyway. Stiles pushes one finger past her folds, circles her clit with it and presses south, curling inside her for one hot, perfect second. It's like the floodgates opening; suddenly Stiles is playing over her folds with confidence, sliding two fingers deep inside her while his thumb works at her clit. He presses at her g-spot like he knows exactly where it is, and fuck if that isn't the sexiest thing Lydia's ever experienced.   
  
Her orgasm crashes through her like a tidal wave. Lydia tilts her head back and whimpers through it, moving her hips against Stiles' fingers, frustrated when she still feels itchy, unsatisfied. She opens her eyes for the first time since the massage began and sees Stiles standing over her, cheeks ruddy, panting through an open mouth that looks like it could eat Lydia's pussy for breakfast. She clutches the fabric of the towel and casts in aside, rolling her hips in happiness when she sees Stiles shudder.  
  
She reaches out and palms the cock that's pressing a line into the front of Stiles' scrubs. "I want it," she says quietly, rubbing her thumb over the tip. That seems to be all Stiles needs, because he yanks his scrubs off.  
  
"Roll over," he says, tugging down his boxers until his dick bounces free, and God, Lydia wants her mouth all over that. She rolls so she's face down on the table, thinking that she should really get his number, once they're done. He climbs up behind her and pulls on her knee. Lydia curls the leg up, out and toward her torso. Stiles breathes unevenly behind her and rubs the flat of his thumb over her folds. He moves in so he's crouching behind her, one hand next to her head, and uses the other hand to guide himself into her. Lydia can't help the moan that escapes her. Stiles feels hot and firm in her, filling her all the way with his girth.   
  
She isn't sure how he does it, but Stiles manages to curl one arm over her hip so he rubs at her clit while he rocks into her from behind. She casts her hair over her shoulder and wonders how a position in which she can't even see Stiles' face somehow feels more intimate than any other sex she's had before. She's wrapped up in Stiles, held in the curl of his body like she's his life's accomplishment, and it's heady. Lydia swirls her hips back against him, clenching her inner muscles, and grins when he  releases a choked-off moan, finger spasming on her clit.  
  
Pleasure curls quietly inside her, coy after releasing once, so that Lydia doesn't feel her second orgasm coming until it's almost upon her. She arches and clutches as Stiles' wrists as she comes, the sensation like lava pouring over her skin. Stiles strokes her through her orgasm and then pulls out, fisting himself quickly. Lydia rolls over and brackets Stiles between her thighs, eager to watch him fall apart. His cock is red and shiny with her slick, and reaching up to help him jerk off is almost automatic. Stiles cries out and comes all over Lydia's hand, hips working as he milks himself dry.   
  
"So these massages really do come with happy endings," Lydia says, once he comes down.  
  
Stiles, startled, laughs. "Not usually," he says, scratching at the back of his neck with his clean hand. "Shit, I totally just-- fuck. I could lose my job over this."  
  
"Hold on," Lydia says, sitting up. "Are the rooms bugged?"  
  
Stiles gives her a confused look. "Of course not, that would be totally unethical."  
  
Lydia tilts her head to the side, lips curled. "Then the only way anyone's going to find out is if I tell on you."  
  
Stiles hisses a breath out through his teeth. "Shit, yeah," he sighs. "Listen, I'm really sorry, you were just-- I was-- "  
  
"Stiles, stop," Lydia commands. "Let's make a deal. I won't tell your boss you assaulted a client if…"  
  
"If?"  
  
"If you give me your number," Lydia finishes, smirking. "With the intent, of course, to take me out on a date. I'm not really a one-night-stand kind of girl, you know."  
  
Stiles flounders at her for a moment. "I can do that."  
  
"Good," Lydia says. "Now, I would demand you finish my massage, but my friend's probably going to be done soon, and she'll have questions if I'm late. I'll expect you to finish the job after our date."  
  
"Getting my hands all over you again?" Stiles asks, _tsk_ ing. "That might be a deal-breaker, actually. I dunno. Seems like extortion." He's smiles at her, and it feels like sunshine. She smirks back at him, thinking that this guy may be good for more than just the occasional hook-up. Hell, she might even enjoy the date before it ends in her bedroom.   
  
"Too bad," Lydia says, stretching. She watches the way Stiles' eyes track down her body with glee. Yeah, she's still got it. She slips off the table and pulls her robe around herself. "If you would, please, take me to my things? This place is a maze."  
  
"Right," Stiles says, tugging his scrubs back on. "Uh, this way." He leads her down several hallways and past one open room with baths of herbal water, until they end up at the locker room in which Lydia stored all of her things. She gets dressed and tosses her robe in a nearby laundry bin before unlocking her phone and offering it to Stiles. He taps in his number and texts himself. "So I'll see you around, then," he says, giving it back to her.  
  
"You better," she retorts. "I'll text you, okay?"  
  
Stiles smiles helplessly, and it does something in Lydia that she can't quite identify. "Okay."  
  
She straightens her skirt and leaves before she can do something ridiculous like kiss him. She finds Allison already waiting for her in the lobby. "Ready to go?"  
  
Allison beams, looking absolutely radiant. "Definitely. Did you enjoy your day?"  
  
Lydia looks back, sees Stiles carrying a stack of towels almost as tall as he is, and smiles. "Definitely."  
  



End file.
